


Vision of Healing

by oddgit



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, FinchWhump, Gunshot Wounds, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Finch whump, M/M, Medical Trauma, Sadness, brain injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-02-22 16:10:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13170465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddgit/pseuds/oddgit
Summary: “Take whatever you want… please just… just don’t hurt me…” Harold turned around and his eyes went wide when he saw a taller man with a gun pointed right at him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [M_E_Lover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_E_Lover/gifts).



> I had to whip up some FinchWhump for M_E_Lover for Christmas!  
> So here it is. I hope you all enjoy.

“Yes, John. I’ll be at the diner in about ten minutes.” Harold turned the corner and headed down the street. He was on his way back from setting up surveillance at their new number’s apartment.

John was tailing her, so Harold had to be the one to put up the cameras while she was at work.

“Stop right there…”

Harold’s heart was in his throat and the hair stood up on the back of his neck. He turned around and put his hands up, trying to stop them from shaking.

“Take whatever you want… please just… just don’t hurt me…” Harold turned around and his eyes went wide when he saw a taller man with a gun pointed right at him.

The sickness that rose in his stomach almost made him wretch. He could hear John’s concern on the other end of the line. _‘Harold? What’s going on?’_

“My wallet is in my coat pocket… take it… and my watch and…”

“Shut up.”

Harold closed his mouth and swallowed hard. His hands were still in the air as the man made his way over to him and ripped his wallet out of his pocket and grabbed his arm, viciously tugging it down to his side to remove his watch. 

There was a split second where Harold thought about trying to get away... Trying to fight him off. But he knew it would only end badly. Maybe this guy would let him go... Maybe he was just going to take his money and leave. 

The gun continued to point at Harold’s head.

_‘Harold, I’m on my way… just relax and do whatever he says… I’ll be there in ten…’_

Harold gulped again. There was no telling if this guy was going to put a bullet in his head once he had gotten everything he wanted from him or not.

“Take whatever you want…” Harold mumbled. “I… I can get you… more…”

He was trying anything at this point because the look in the man’s eyes told him he probably wasn’t going to make it to that diner after all. The sudden hopelessness that ran through him threatened to strangle him.

“Stop talking…” The man grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around roughly.

Harold couldn’t stifle the sharp gasp of pain that shot out of his mouth from the harsh treatment. He felt the cold barrel of the pistol press up against the back of his head and his heart jumped into his throat.

“Please… no…” he gasped, sudden tears trickling down his face. His voice was wet and desperate.

The mugger didn’t say anything, and Harold’s breath caught in his throat. His chest heaving and his stomach churned.

_‘Harold. I’m almost there… breathe for me…’_

Harold wanted to believe John. Wanted to believe he was going to get out of this alive… but he knew he wasn’t going to. His head fell forward to the brick wall that he’d been pushed up against and he choked out a broken sob. He’d never see John again and the reality hit him hard.

The cold, hard metal pressed harder onto his skull and he breathed out, “I’m sorry, John.”

Then the whole world went silent and black.

#

_“Take whatever you want… please just… just don’t hurt me…”_

John stopped what he was doing, and his stomach dropped. Harold’s voice was shaky and broken and he sounded like he was terrified.

“Harold? What’s going on?”

Harold didn’t answer him, and his heart started to pound in his chest. His protective instincts kicking in. Like a bear protecting its cubs.

He immediately brought up Harold’s location on his phone and started to sprint to his car.

_“My wallet is in my coat pocket… take it… and my watch and…”_

John put the car into drive and raced into the street. He heard the abrupt _‘Shut up,’_ and he pressed down on the gas a lot harder.

“Harold, I’m on my way… just relax and do whatever he says… I’ll be there in ten…”

He can hear Harold getting manhandled and the pained gasps. This guy better be gone when John gets there or he’s going to have a bullet between his eyes.

The panic that John hasn’t felt in years rises in his chest when he heard the guy throw Harold against the wall and tells him to stop talking. The click of a safety echoes through John’s ear and he slams down on the gas pedal and runs two red lights.

 _“Please… no…”_ Harold’s choked gasp makes John grasp the steering wheel harder and his knuckles go white.

“Harold. I’m almost there… breathe for me…” John soothes because he _has_ to do _something_. He can’t let Harold feel like he’s alone. Can’t do _nothing._

He skids the car around a corner and ignores the honking behind him of the cars he’s just cut off.

_‘I’m sorry, John…’_

“No! Harold, no!” he yells, but his protests are cut off when he hears a loud shot go off and then nothing. “Harold?” he asks because part of his brain is refusing that this has actually just happened. Even if the other part is screaming at him that Harold’s just been killed, that he’s dead.

The car is silent except his breathing and the screeching of tires for the next couple of minutes and as he pulls up to the scene, he sees Harold lying next to a wall… lifeless.

“No… no…” He murmurs to himself, running over to his partner. He fell to his knees and his eyes grew wide at the sight of a bullet hole in the back of Harold’s head and blood pooled underneath him. “Oh my…” His hand immediately flew to his neck, searching desperately for a pulse, even though he knew it was useless.

His mouth went dry when he felt the faint flutter of a pulse under Harold’s carotid artery. He ripped his phone out of his pocket and called an ambulance. He moved on auto-pilot. Being in shock and not knowing exactly what to do except sit there and stare at his partner.

The stillness was the thing that made him sick to his stomach. “I’m here…” he whispered. Even though every rational part of him told him Harold couldn’t hear him. “Don’t worry… we’re getting you help…”  He checked his pulse at his neck again and again.

He raised his shaky hands to Harold’s face and ran his thumb over his cheek, “I’m sorry…” He blinked, causing tears to flow down his cheek. “I’m so sorry…”

#

John watched on as the paramedics did their jobs with skillful efficiency. He liked to think that he could do his job the same way. But tonight, he had failed. More importantly, he’d failed Harold.

Carter appeared behind him. Putting her hand on his shoulder, “We should go.”

“I’m not leaving him,” John croaked out. His eyes never leaving the sight of the paramedics quickly getting Harold onto a gurney and loading him into the ambulance.

“I meant to the hospital…” she led him gently toward her cruiser, and he got into the passenger seat dazedly.

They drove through the crowded New York streets in absolute silence. John just stared out the window, staring at the city lights. The bright orbs that were seemingly everywhere were mesmerizing. He’d never noticed it until now.

Until his world was seemingly coming to an end.

He finally turned his attention forward and cleared his throat, “He’s going to die, isn’t he? No one survives that…”

Joss frowned, “You don’t know that.”

John wanted to laugh. Yes, he did know that. Because of all the people _he’s_ shot in the head, none of them survived. It’s almost like a cruel joke that the universe was giving him an ounce of hope at Harold surviving.

Like it was taunting him, laughing at him.

Carter pulled into the hospital lot and parked. John got out, his body numb and cold as he walked through the doors that read **_EMERGENCY_** in bright red letters above.

Carter went over to the front desk, asking about Harold. John followed, robot-like.

“Hi. We’re looking for a Harold Wren?”

The women at the front desk looked through the computer for a moment and then her expression turned sad, “he’s in surgery. You can take a seat in the waiting room. A surgeon will be out to speak with you when they’re done.”

#

“Jesus, what happened here?” The doctor asked, his mouth gaped at the sight.

“Mugging. We lost him twice in the bus but got him back. We started a transfusion, but he’s circling the drain.” The paramedic wheeled the gurney to a stop in the room and locked the wheels. “GCS is 4.”

“Damn,” the older man grimaced. The trauma team immediately went to work. “Looks like the bullet clipped the right side of the skull and is still in there." He removed the bandaging and examined the side of Harold’s head. “That’s probably why he wasn't DOA.”

“Still caused enough damage to turn him into a turnip," said a male nurse. "He'll never wake up."

“Get out,” the older man ordered, not looking up from his patient’s head.

“Excuse me?”

“This man is fighting for his life. He doesn’t need your negativity in here. Get out, now.” The older trauma surgeon ordered.

After the nurse dropped what he was doing and walked out of the trauma room, the surgeon cleared his throat, “He’s not stable enough for a CT... let’s get him up to surgery.”

The surgeon looked down at his patient. The man obviously had someone or _something_ watching out for him. He should have never made it into the ambulance, let alone to the hospital.

“Just hang on, buddy. We’re going to get you through this.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some RL stuff is making it difficult to post this one, so bear with me, please.   
> Hope you're still enjoying this.

John sat in the chair and listened to the ‘ _tick_ ’ of the clock on the wall next to him. His knee bobbed up and down quickly, his fingers tapped on his thighs. He tried to keep his breathing calm and steady.

“John…” Carter looked over at him from her seat next to him, “wanna talk?” She sat her magazine down on the table.

He didn’t take his attention off the floor tile that he was staring at.

Carter put her hand over his on his thigh, “There was nothing you could have done…”

“Don’t…” he grimaced, shaking his head. There was _something_ he could have done. He should have never let Harold go out into the field. He doesn’t deserve to be the one who has to do this kind of stuff.

Harold needs to be behind his computer in the library, safe and sound. John _needs_ him to be safe. Not in a hospital with a bullet in his brain.

“Mister… Wren?” A taller man in blue scrubs exited through double doors and walked to the middle of the waiting room.  

Carter stood up and motioned toward the doctor.

John gulped. He stood still like a statue, watching Carter communicate with him, transfixed. It was like he was trapped in mud, not able to move or hear anything. Somehow, through the haze, he heard the words, ‘follow me to another room.’ John choked, and his heart dropped. He couldn't breathe; he couldn't see, a feeling like rushing water roaring in his mind.

Walking through the halls, his stomach churned, and his mouth was dry. The door shut behind him once they were in the room and he finally snapped out of his daze.

“He made it through the operation, but these next 24 hours are very critical. The bullet caused a hematoma, which is a blood clot on the brain. His skull is fractured in two places. We removed the bullet fragments and evacuated the clot. Luckily the bullet missed much of the vital brain tissue and vascular structures.”

The doctor turned on a light and scans of Harold’s brain were illuminated on the screen.

John swallowed, his chest felt tight. The sight of where the bullet tore through Harold’s brain made him sick to look at. It destroyed everything in its path.

“But even with that, he’s looking at the possibility of thinking, learning, memory, speech and emotional deficiencies. Along with fine motor movements and balance problems. His brain is swollen, so that could cause additional issues.”

John grimaced. He couldn’t imagine Harold waking up and not being _… Harold._ Selfishly, he didn’t care. He needed Harold any way he could get him.

They would work the rest out.

“I must warn you though, the possibility of him actually waking up is rather… slim. His brain was without oxygen for a dangerous amount of time and the damage is extensive.”

John stumbled back a bit. His knees wanted to give out.

“How slim?” He heard Carter ask.

The doctor frowned, “He has about a 40% chance of waking up at all. The possibility of him waking up with less than devastating deficits… it’s about 20%...”

_No._

John wanted to throw up.

“I don’t want to discourage you, but these are the harsh realities of the kind of trauma he’s experienced.”

The doctor looked at John sadly with a frown and concern in his eyes at his reaction. John hated when people looked at him like that. Hated when people felt bad for him. He didn’t need their pity. He needed Harold to be okay.

“Can we see him?” Carter spoke up, breaking the painful silence.

John barely even registered her speaking.

“Of course. I’ll take you up to him.” The surgeon motioned for Carter and John to follow him. John thought about turning around. Thought about leaving and never looking back. He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t just sit around and watch Harold die… or worse, wake up and be someone else…

He swallowed hard and continued to follow Carter and the doctor into the elevator and down a few hallways. They stopped in front of a doorway, the sign on the side read ‘Neuro-ICU-Room 348’.

Once John entered the room, the steady beep of a heart monitor and the rhythmic _swoosh_ of the respirator were the only sounds in the private room.

John stood beside Carter, staring at the large hospital bed that seemed to swallow his partner up. He looked so small and frail and his hair had been shaved off on one side, a large white bandage covered it.

The right side of his face was black and blue. He had tubes down his throat and up his nose, and IVs in both arms. A thin tube ran out of a hole in his skull.

"We're using medication to keep him in a coma until the swelling in his brain goes down. Then we'll wait and see what happens,” the doctor whispered.

Carter nodded her head and cleared her throat, blinking back tears. She couldn’t have imagined a more horrific sight.

“I’ll leave you two to it. If you need anything at all, the nurses are right outside. They’ll be in and out all the time. So, don’t hesitate to ask,” he smiled and headed out the door.

John regarded Harold for another moment before taking a deep breath and walking over to the side of the bed. Up close, John found it hard to look at him, so motionless and hurt.

He could feel Carter come up behind him and place a hand on his arm, “He’s going to wake up John. I can feel it. Finch is a fighter.”

John didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at the mechanical rise and fall of Harold’s chest. It seemed almost wrong somehow, having his breathing assisted by machinery.

He drew a chair over to the bedside and sat, staring at Harold's hand for a long time before reaching over and taking it in his own. His skin was warm, but there was no life in those once nimble fingers.

“Do you have a lead on the guy who… did this… yet?” John croaked, not taking his eyes off Harold. He could feel a sob bubbling up inside him.

“I’m not sure. I’ll go call Fusco… give him an update on Harold too.” She took a long steadying breath and put her hand on John’s shoulder and squeezed. “Do you need me to get you anything?”

“No, I think I’m fine,” he whispered, his brow creased in worry, still staring at Harold.

Joss nodded, and the side of her mouth quirked up, “I’ll be back…” she called after her quietly as she left.

John cleared his throat and smiled, “Hey, Finch…” He blinked away his tears, “they say you’re probably not going to wake up…” His head fell to rest on the bed railing. He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, “but I _need_ you to wake up, Harold. I can’t do this without you…” His voice cracked, and he fell silent. “Please... just… wake up.”

#

Carter walked back into Harold’s room, a cup holder full of coffee in her hands. “Hey, John. I brought you…”

She paused when she noticed the tall man asleep in the chair, his hand still enclosed around Harold’s. She smiled sadly and cleared her throat. She moved quietly over to the closet where the nurses had shown them extra blankets and grabbed one off the shelf. She opened it up and gently threw it over the exhausted man and took his phone from his slipping grip.

She stood up and smiled at the sight, “You’d better wake up, Finch…” she whispered."You have to.”

#

John found the guy.

He was at a bar. Drinking and watching a football game.

Like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t just ruined Harold’s life.

So, John waited for him to leave. He was sitting in a black Lexus on the opposite side of the bar.

The door opened, and Carter sat down in the passenger seat. “What are you doing, John?” she sighed.

“Making it so he doesn’t do this to anyone else…”

“You can’t do this, John… Let the police handle it…” She put her hand on his, before he sharply pulled it away.

“If I do that, he’ll get away with it…” Just then, the guy walked out of the bar and headed down an alleyway.

John reached for the door handle and pulled, but Carter grabbed his arm. “You know damn well this is not what he would want…”

John tore his arm away and got out of the car, following the man into the alleyway.

“Hey!”

The man turned around, “Yeah?”

John walked up to him and punched him in the face, a blow to the nose, rendering him absolutely helpless.

John grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket. Pushing him up against the wall. “Where is it?” John’s eyes looked lost, confused, but his rage was unleashing and surging through his veins.

“Where’s what?” the injured man cried out. His nose bleeding and his eyes watery.

“His watch! You remember the guy you shot in the head last night?” John punched him hard in the stomach, “Where is it?”

The man groaned and fell to the ground and curled into himself, “It’s… in my… pocket…” He coughed up blood and spit it onto the sidewalk.

John reached down, and ripped Harold’s watch out of his jacket pocket, putting it into his own. “Do you even remember what he looked like?” He threw another blow to the man’s stomach. “Did you even know his name?” He kicked him and kneeled down to press his gun against the young man’s temple, making him wince. “His name is Harold. He’s lying in a hospital bed right now. Fighting for his life!” He clicked the safety off. “Because of you.”

“Please… I’m sorry…”

 _'We save lives, Mister Reese…’_ he could hear Harold’s voice playing out in his head.

John huffed. His head fell, and he lowered his gun. He closed his eyes and swallowed.

Harold was _alive_ , and he wouldn’t want someone to _die_ because of him. Even if that person had taken his life from him.

He knocked the man unconscious with the butt of his gun and zip tied him. He walked out of the alleyway and to the car.

Carter was waiting outside, leaning up against the door.

“He’s zip tied and unconscious by the back door to the bar. I’m going back to the hospital.”

“What was the point of all this if you were just going to leave him for me?” Carter asked, moving out of the way as he got into the front seat of the car.

“I had to get his watch back.”

John sped off without another word.


	3. Chapter 3

“The swelling in his brain has gone down. They’re taking the tube out of his head as we speak and then we’ll start easing him off sedation.” The doctor was showing John, Harold’s newest series of brain scans. “Then we wait for him to wake up.” 

“What are the chances of him waking up?” John asked, fisting his hands unconsciously. 

“John, listen. It’s beyond numbers and percentages now. It’s all up to him. He’s a fighter, that’s clear. So, I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll see him open his eyes again; it’s just a matter of time.” The doctor put his hand on John’s shoulder and smiled.

John walked back into the room. 

Harold was off the ventilator and the thin tube was removed from his head. His complexion was a horrifying mix of black, red, yellow, and blue. The stapled incision on his head made John cringe when he looked at it. 

The nurses left, and John took hold of his partner’s hand again, “Hey…” he cleared his throat, “If you can hear me… I’m here… just… I need you to know that. You’re not alone… and I’m not going to let anything happen to you ever again.” 

The quietness of the room now that the ventilator was gone was almost calming. Only the sound of oxygen and the heart monitor filled the room. 

“Just please… wake up, Harold…” 

#

He opened his eyes sluggishly, one and then the other, there were lights above him that made his head hurt. His eyes were gritty, lids heavy, and he let them slide closed again, letting himself drift through a haze of gray and murky clouds. 

Later, a noise interrupted his peaceful semi-consciousness, an easy touch on his arm, the warmth of skin… 

Two figures came over to him this time, one in black and someone wearing white. He couldn’t really see anything, his eyes were… fuzzy. It was like he needed something… but he couldn’t remember what. That bothered him, like an irritation in the back of his mind, a weight in his chest, but he wasn't sure why.

They made noises at each other and at him.  _ Speaking. _ They were speaking. He knew that. He'd always known it, he just hadn't remembered. He was suddenly and overwhelmingly tired, and he let his eyes slide shut again. 

A hand touched his face and his eyes fluttered open, a face was close to his. It was a man, his hair somewhat long and wavy. 

“Harold? Harold, can you hear me?” the man asked. "Harold, do you understand me? Can you squeeze my hand?" The man reached down, taking his hand. His fingers were cold. "Harold, please, if you understand me, squeeze my hand." 

The man squeezed Harold’s fingers and Harold looked down at their joined hands. It was like he wanted to do something, but he wasn't sure what. The man squeezed his hand again and Harold tried to do the same to him, but nothing happened. 

That wasn't right. He looked over at his other hand and curled his fingers against his palm. It wasn't that hard. So why wouldn't the other hand do it? 

That irritation in his brain came back, the weight in his chest greater, and he felt his eyebrows knit together. He didn't like this. 

"His heart rate and BP are rising," said a person in blue, a woman he’d just noticed. 

"He's upset," said the man in white. "it's okay, Harold," he said. "You're okay. It's going to be alright." He nodded to the women standing beside him and she frowned.

_ Okay. _ He knew that word. _ Okay _ was good. It made him feel better.  _ Harold _ , he knew that too. He closed his eyes and was pulled back into the fog. 

#

John saw Harold twitch. He really didn’t know how he saw it. It was tiny. Harold’s nose had wiggled, in fact. That’s what he saw. 

He thought his hopeful mind was playing tricks on him, until Harold’s eyes cracked open when one of the machines sounded that it needed refilled. 

“Oh my…” John stood up, his heart racing. He made sure Harold was actually awake and he wasn’t just dreaming, and ran out to get a nurse. As luck would have it, Harold’s doctor was outside at the nurse’s station. 

They both ran back into the room, the doctor sat down on the edge of Harold’s bed and tried to get his attention, “Harold? Harold, can you hear me?” 

Harold just looked up at him with a blank stare and John’s heart dropped. He got a sick feeling in his stomach. 

"Harold, please, if you understand me, squeeze my hand." 

John looked down at the doctor’s hand where it enclosed around Harold’s. He held his breath, praying that Harold’s fingers would move at least some. 

But they didn’t. 

John wanted to cry. Wanted to punch something. 

The doctor noticed Harold’s opposite hand clench closed and his brow furrowed. His heart rate sped up and they could tell he was getting agitated. 

“He’s upset…” the doctor frowned. The same look on his face from the first night that John couldn’t stand. "It's okay, Harold," he said. "You're okay. It's going to be alright." He nodded to a nurse that had entered the room and she quickly emptied a syringe into Harold’s IV. Sedating him. 

Once Harold’s eyes fluttered shut, John turned around and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. His hands clenched and unclenched with every breath he took. 

This wasn’t fair. 

Harold could crack the world’s toughest firewall in mere minutes…

Now he couldn’t even follow a simple command. 

The doctor put his hand on John’s back and led him out into the hallway. 

“I know that was hard. Believe me. But this is good. He’s awake. He’s somewhat responsive…” 

“Responsive?” John huffed painfully. “He didn’t understand what you were asking him.” 

“John… his left hand was squeezing shut. His right side may have deficits. Remember? We talked about this…” He put his hand on John’s shoulder, “listen. Once he wakes up again, we’ll know more. We can run more tests, try to get him talking. But whether it seems like it or not right now, you just witnessed a miracle.” The doctor smiled, “he wasn’t supposed to make it into the ambulance, John. Let alone wake up.” 

John let out an exhausted breath and put his hand over his face, “Okay.” 

#

The next time Harold woke up, it was later that night. 

He opened his eyes again and it was still fuzzy. He tried to lift his hands to rub his eyes, but only one arm would cooperate. 

He stared down at his unmoving limb and his brows furrowed. Why couldn’t he move that arm? He should be able to. 

Then that man in white appeared again. He sat down on Harold’s bed again and enclosed his hand around Harold’s. 

His fingers were still cold and clammy. They had a smell that meant… clean. 

“Harold…” 

There was that word again. 

“Harold, can you hear me?” 

Harold… that was his name.  _ Harold.  _ Somewhere deep in his head, he knew that. It came to him and he remembered. It felt  _ right. _

“Harold… if you can understand me, try and squeeze my hand, please.” 

He turned his attention to the man and looked down at his good hand, which was now also enclosed with the other man’s. He curled his fingers around the man’s cold hand. 

“Good, Harold.” He smiled, and Harold suddenly had a good feeling in his chest. “How about with this hand?” the man wiggled the opposite hand. 

Harold tried. He really did. His complete attention was focused on that hand, his brow furrowed again, and he pursed his lips trying his hardest to make it move. 

But nothing happened. 

_ What is wrong with me? _ That heavy feeling was back and he started to get warm. 

“It’s okay, Harold. We’ll try to get that fixed, okay?” 

_ Okay.  _ He breathed in deep and he felt himself starting to get tired again. 

Just then, a taller man in black and white clothing walked in. A cup was in his hand. The cup looked familiar. It should have something… hot, in it. Something Harold didn’t think he liked very much. 

The tall man was familiar. There was something in his chest that told him he was… special. 

“Harold. This is John.” The doctor motioned for him to come over with them. “Do you remember him?” 

_ John. _

He had flashes of John carrying pink boxes and playing with a dog. He also remembered… computers. 

He squeezed the man’s hand. 

John smiled. 

He had water on his face. It meant he was sad. Harold didn’t want him to be sad…

“O... kay," Harold said, surprised by the sound and the feeling in his throat. He said it again, "Okay."


	4. Chapter 4

Harold was healing, albeit slowly.

But there was still no serious recognition in those blue eyes.

He slept most of the time. John could really only remember him being awake for more than an hour at a time, maybe twice.

 _‘Rest is the brain’s way of healing.’_ Doctor Miller had told him.

Carter had come in to see Harold the day after he woke up. She brought a stuffed dog with her. It looked a lot like Bear. It hadn’t left Harold’s side since.

John only ever left to go get fresh clothes and food and take showers, and that was only when Harold was sleeping.

“We’re going to start easing him off some of the meds, so he’ll be more awake and aware for his learning sessions. Those will start in the morning.” Doctor Miller told John. They were standing outside of Harold’s room; he was getting a CT scan to get another look at his healing brain.

“And what will that include?”

“Well, it’s only been a couple days. So just cognitive therapy which is activities designed to improve memory, attention, perception, and learning. And also, speech therapy. Maybe some physical therapy for his arm. I’ll know more when I see the scans.”

“Okay.” John paused for a moment until he cleared his throat, “His arm and him not really talking… will that get better?”

The doctor let out a breath, “With brain injuries… it’s hard to say. Sometimes the patients get into therapy and they recover miraculously and are the same person they used to be. Some get good results in the first month or so and then hit a wall…” the doctor cleared his throat and frowned, “but some don’t ever recover.”

John’s stomach churned at the thought of Harold never getting any better. He had pushed away the thoughts of Harold never waiting for him at the library again, never hearing his dry wit through the comm again, no more chastising from him in jest again… No more… _Harold._

 He gulped, “okay.”

#

“Alright, Harold. I want you to pick up all these coins and put them into here.”

There were about six or seven quarters laying on the pull-out table on Harold’s hospital bed. A small cup was sitting next to the quarters. Harold’s objective was to pick up the coins with his bad hand and arm and place them into the cup one at a time.

The physical therapist was the first one to come in and see Harold. She was younger, maybe 25 or 30. Her name was Taylor. Doctor Miller told John that she was great, and her patients had amazing success rates.

Harold reached up with his good arm, resulting in a quiet chuckle from John.

The therapist grabbed Harold’s hand gently and placed it down by his side, “no… with this one…” She pointed to his other hand.

Frustrated, Harold huffed, as he attempted to pick up his arm. He hadn’t seen very much progress with it in the short time since he’d been conscious. He was barely able to do much more than lift it and was becoming extremely exasperating for him.

“Come on. Just like this,” Taylor encouraged him as she picked up one of the coins and set it into the cup.

Harold’s hand was on the table now and he managed to get one of the coins in between his fingers and started to move it slowly over to the cup, before it fell back to the table.

He let out an upset huff of air and sunk into the bed sulkily.

John frowned, and started to move closer to his injured partner. “Hey… Harold…” He took his hand in his, “listen, you have to try and do this, okay? I know it’s hard and frustrating, but it’s going to help.” His voice wasn’t childlike, instead, it was clear and concise, more punctuation put into several words.

Harold looked up at him and his mouth quirked into an awkward smirk, “O-kay. John.”

#

This new woman was nice. She didn’t look familiar, and he didn’t think he should know her.

He didn’t get the same feeling in the back of his head when he saw John and Carter.

She was trying to get him to put the coins in the cup with his bad hand, but he couldn’t.

That made him angry.

“Come on. Just like this,” the woman said.

He let out a breath and managed to get his hand onto the table and get one of the coins in between his fingers. They were cold and smooth. He started to move his arm, but it ended in the coin falling to the table with a few clanks.

The feeling he didn’t like came back and he sunk down into bed. He didn’t want to do this anymore. He wanted to go away from here. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Hey… Harold…” John grabbed his hand in his and Harold immediately started to feel better, “listen, you have to do this, remember? I know it’s hard and frustrating, but it’s going to help.”

Harold relaxed a bit. If John was saying it was okay and it was going to help. Then he would do it.

“O-kay. John.”

#

Three weeks had passed, and Harold was now in a short-term care facility.  

He had therapy every day except Sunday, for 2 hours. Mondays through Wednesdays were dealing with things like reading, writing, colors, and speech. Thursdays through Saturdays were physical therapy for his arm and to keep his other limbs from weakening.

He had problems with reading. The words seemed to get mixed up in his head. It discouraged him and angered in no time at all, sounds of annoyance escaping his small frame as time dragged on.

John wasn’t fond of watching Harold struggle through something so easy, it was heartbreaking. But he still visited every day. Sometimes the staff let him spend the night because it was easier on Harold. He didn’t want to cooperate when John wasn’t there.

“John. Can… outside?” He was confused as to how to ask the question, and he jumbled the words and stared at the ex-operative with a familiar, exasperated look of irritation.

The man’s speech and ability to think _was_ coming back gradually thanks to the learning sessions. His brain was rerouting the signals to compensate for the damaged areas. It was just going to take _time_.

Still, the dreadful reality at what he was watching broke his heart. Finch was trying so hard, and Dr. Miller said he’d made amazing progress, given the injuries he’d sustained. It was a miracle he was even awake, not lying in a coma, or in the ground six feet under.

John was sitting in Harold’s room with him. He was watching TV and Harold was keeping himself occupied by looking outside of the window.

John shut the TV off and walked over to the smaller, fragile man in the chair. “You want to go outside, Harold?” John asked, a slight smile on his face.

“Yes.”

It was obvious how curious Harold was, almost like his old self was beating on the walls of this new captivity.

“I’ll ask, okay? But why don’t you finish your lunch first?” John pushed the tray full of mashed potatoes, Jell-O, and chicken in front of him.

Harold grumbled, not a fan of the rehab facility’s food. The only thing he liked was the ice cream and they hardly ever seemed to give that to him.

He grabbed the fork weakly with a shaky hand and dug into the mashed potatoes. He moved for his cup of tea, something John never came without on his visits. Harold still had his entrenched taste for Sencha green tea.  

John smiled at the sight of Harold trying to use his bad arm. It was still extremely weak and had its difficulties, but he was actively trying to use it and it was getting better. His physical therapist had no doubt that he would regain full use of it. It was just also going to take time.

John smiled to himself and tried to hide it with his hand, but failed. Harold looked up at him and smiled back, “Happy?”

John chuckled, “Yes… yes, I am. Now how about I go see if we can go outside?”

Harold just smiled at the taller man and turned his attention back to the buttery potatoes.

John walked out to the nurse’s area, looking for Jackie.

Jackie was Harold’s favorite nurse. The first day Harold arrived, it was difficult for both he and John. She made it easier on them, allowing John to stay until whenever he wanted, making sure Harold was comfortable and just being all-around helpful to them both.

Ever since then, Harold had taken a special liking to her. She was usually the one who sat with Harold until he fell asleep when John couldn’t stay.

“Hey, John,” she called from behind a computer.

“Hey.” He walked over to her. “Is there any way I can take him outside?”

When he got a raised eyebrow in response, he continued. “He’s been looking out the window for 2 days straight. He just asked if we could go out…”

“I don’t know, John…” she started. “He’s still quite a bit wobbly on his feet… and it could set him off if he sees or hears something…”

John got a disappointed look on his face, “Yeah, you’re right. I understand…”

“Wait,” she stopped him. “I guess I can let you but I’m coming too... and he stays in the wheelchair.”

John smiled, “Okay, it’s a deal.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Birds…” Harold crowed happily, almost jumping out of his seat as John pushed him around the corner.

John smiled; the sight of Harold happy, after everything that had happened, was warming to his heart.

“Do you like the birds, Harold?” Jackie asked.

John told her about how Harold had always liked birds and knew basically everything about them. It was nice to see that even with brain damage, he still found joy in them.

“Yes,” Harold chirped, a smile from ear to ear on his face.

John pulled the chair to a stop next to a bench in the nice outside area of the facility. It was mainly used for occasions like this when patients were outside with their families and such.

John and Jackie sat down on the bench next to Harold, who had not taken his attention off the cardinal sitting on one of the bird feeders.

“What kind of bird is that, Harold?” John asked, not really expecting a response. The small, fragile man didn’t say anything.

Harold had his trademark ‘thinking look’ on his face for a moment.

“Card...” The sound tumbled from Finch’s mouth, both Jackie and Reese stared at him, expecting more as he stuttered out a fragmented “car…din…al.”

It made John’s heart clench… it was like Finch was almost right there… so close… yet so far away.

“Good, Harold. That’s a cardinal,” Jackie answered, noticing John’s watery eyes and the lump in his throat. “Cardinals are my favorite. They’re so pretty, aren’t they, John?”

John smiled and cleared his throat, “Yes, they are.”

#

Harold had a dream, a nightmare to be more accurate.

There was something hard and cold being pressed up against his head and then an earth-shattering explosion pierced his hearing.

He woke up terrified.

He was screaming, rocking back and forth in his bed as well as he could, clutching the stuffed dog close to him.

The nurses tried to get him to calm down, but the sobbing and shaking wouldn’t stop. “John… John,” he called, loud and worriedly, tears welling in his eyes again as he did so, “John…”  

Finally, unable to calm him down, a nurse arrived with a sedative and injected it into Harold’s arm.

Once the small man relaxed and quieted, Jackie, who was trying to hold onto him and coax him to calm down, gently guided him to lay down.

Once he was curled up, fast asleep, cuddling the small stuffed dog that he had since he’d arrived, Jackie sat down in one of the chairs by the window just to watch him.

If he woke up again like that, he’d need someone there with him.

She felt so bad for him, she knew that he must have been a highly intellectual man before his world had been shattered and taken away from him. It broke her heart for him and his partner.

#

John walked through the double doors of the facility, holding the drink carrier with his cup of coffee and two cups of tea for Harold.

He saw Jackie sitting at the main desk, and walked over to her to check in for the day.

“Hey, John. He’s still asleep,” she smiled and looked up at him sadly.

“It’s almost eleven,” John replied, a bit confused. They usually had Harold up and getting ready for his learning sessions by now.

“He had a rough night. We think he may be starting to get his memory back,” she frowned. “I think he had a nightmare about what happened.”

“What happened…?” John echoed, gulping.

“Yeah. We had to sedate him, so we’re putting off his sessions for today and letting him rest.”

John’s brow furrowed and his mind raced, with feelings of guilt, fear, and hope. If Harold’s memory was coming back, he was getting better. He may remember John… what they did… who they were.

But it also meant that he would start to remember what happened. Remember that John didn’t get there in time.

That he’d failed him.

“Is it okay if I just sit with him then?” John asked, clearing his throat.

“Of course. He was asking for you last night. I talked it over with my boss and she said it’d be alright if you wanted to stay tonight. If he has another episode, you might be able to calm him down without us having to give him any more drugs.”

“Okay… thanks” John took a deep breath and turned around, the drink carrier in his hands.

John walked to Harold’s room and cracked open the door. His small form lay under a thin cream blanket; the soft, gentle in and out of his breathing telling him that he was still asleep.

With a nearly silent click, the door was sealed shut. The soft plush dog lay askew with Finch’s sure grip around its lower leg.

Reese let his lips quirk up at the sight, stepping closer silently, careful not to wake the older man up.

He sat down in the chair next to the bed, setting the drink carrier onto the bedside table.

He sat there, hands clasped together as he watched the silent man sleep. Both hoping and praying that his dreams were those of only good memories, not the bad ones.

#

John startled awake when the door to Harold’s room opened. He was up half the night last night dealing with a number.

He wasn’t going to continue at first.

Until Carter slapped him around and told him that Harold would be absolutely _pissed_ when he recovered and found out that John hadn’t followed his end of the contingency deal.

He looked up to see Jackie entering the room with a small cup filled with medicine.

“Good morning, Harold.” Finch groaned sleepily and rolled over awkwardly to get a better look at the voice. She helped him into a sitting position, being careful.

“Morning…” he rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times. “Key…” he smiled. That was what he called her. When he first arrived, two syllable words were nonexistent in his vocabulary. Now that he was speaking better and able to handle a few more complex words, he still called her, ‘key’.

“Ready for your medicine?” Her brows knit, and she had a smirk on her face. Knowing that Harold hated his anti-infection medicine.

Finch didn’t like the taste of the tangy medication, sleepily complaining when Jackie put her hand on the back of his shoulders and coaxed him into swallowing the liquid.

“Come on. One big swallow.”

Harold took a gulp, coughing afterward.

Jackie soothed him, rubbing her hand over his back gently, “Sorry, Harold. I’ll be back in with your lunch soon, okay?”

Finch merely blinked at her and looked around the room, spotting Reese and then smiled. “John. Hi. Missed you.”

“Morning Harold.” John smiled and scooted his chair closer to Harold’s bed. “Did you sleep okay?” John asked, gently grabbing Harold’s hand with his own.

Harold frowned and pulled John closer to him, wanting to hide, the memories chasing him again. The feeling of something cold at the back of his head. The sounds of yelling and machines beeping and… darkness.

“Don’t like…” Harold murmured. “Scared. Loud noise. Hurts.” His eyes were fearful behind the black frames.

John let him curl up, running his fingers through his hair and whispering gentle words across his temple, waiting until his trembling died down and he laid there in Reese’s arms, staring off into space with one of his ‘thinking looks.’

Jackie came back in through the door and stopped at the sight.

John looked up at her with watery eyes and a frown. Jackie set the tray of food down on the table and left without another word. Leaving the two of them to themselves.

 “Harold…” John soothed, running his hands through his soft brown hair, careful of the scar on the side of his head. “It’s okay… I’m here… You’re safe.”

Harold’s hands grasped onto the lapels of John’s jacket, pulling him weakly for comfort, tears still rolling down his reddened cheeks.

John put his finger under the smaller, trembling man’s chin and lifted his head to face him, “You’re safe. Understand?” He needed to get the point across. “I’m never going to let anyone hurt you again.”

Harold just looked up at him, a stray tear sneaking down his cheek.

John reached up and wiped the tear away with his thumb, “I need you to understand, Harold. You’re completely safe with me, okay?”

Harold’s mouth quirked into a small smile, “Okay.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is. Hope you enjoyed.

John and Harold were playing scrabble. It was one of the things they did almost every night before John left.

Of course, Harold wasn’t as good as he used to be. The usual triple score words were reduced to simple words like ‘boy’ and ‘run’.

But anything was an improvement in John’s eyes. Especially when, a month ago, he thought he’d never see Harold speak again.

“Is that… good?” Harold asked, looking down at the word ‘hello’ on the board.

John smiled, his teeth showing, “Yes, Harold. That’s great.”

“Good,” Harold took a sip of his tea. “How was today?”

“My day was good.” John replied, setting down the tiles for the word, ‘door’ onto the board. “I didn’t have a number today.”

 “Numbers…” Harold murmured. A flash of … something running across his features until he hugged the stuffed dog in his grip a little closer.

John looked up at Harold and his brow arched, “Do you remember the numbers, Harold?”

Harold thought for a moment… “No… I remember… computers?”

John held back his frown, “That’s good, Harold. You liked computers. Maybe when you leave here, we can get you one…”

The rest of the day went by without any other specific questions, or memories. John simply listened to Harold slowly and thoughtfully spell out his words and talk about his lunch and what Taylor had made him do in physical therapy that day.

But John kept thinking about how Harold was still in there. Just trapped inside a sick, healing man. He’d be back… he just had to be patient.

#

Harold was in one of his physical therapy sessions with Taylor.

He and John were sitting in chairs across the room from each other, tossing a ball back and forth, waiting for Taylor to come back to go for their walk outside.

Harold loved going outside. Especially to look at the birds.

John tossed the ball back to Harold softly, but Harold’s grip slipped, and the ball hit the ground with a loud, ‘thump’.

Harold’s eyes grew wide. He hated loud noises; they reminded him of pain and shining objects and sadness… lots of sadness. In his panic, his hands were shaking, and he stared down at the floor, unmoving.

John cautiously moved over, deciding whether to reach out and embrace the terrified man or not.

“Harold?” he called out softly.

The memory from his nightmare flooded Harold’s mind in waves and he squeezed his eyes shut to fully embrace it. His head started pounding, a sharp headache pinching right in the middle of his forehead as he kept thinking, digging.

Harold looked up at him with his brow furrowed, “John? I think… I remember…”

John’s heart started to pound in his ears. His chest ached at the small, broken man in front of him. “What?” he breathed out.

“I remember…” Harold’s hand flew to the side of his head, rubbing his temple. “It hurts…” He fell to the floor in a heap.

John was at his side in a second, catching him before his head smacked the tile floor. “Harold?” he asked. “Harold? Are you okay?”

The smaller man was obviously in a tremendous amount of pain, his eyes suddenly rolled to the back of his head, “Harold?” John’s voice broke, “Help! Taylor!”

Jackie and Taylor came running back into the room, “What happened?” they asked, taking Harold’s semi-conscious body from John.

“He said he remembered… and then he grabbed his head and fell to the ground…” John ran his hand through his hair.

Once they got Harold somewhat more awake, the two women got him up and into a wheelchair. They wheeled him back to his room and got him settled into bed. Once the small, fragile man was asleep, John went out to talk to Jackie.

“What the hell was that?” he hissed, his chest puffing out as he took one, deep and brooding breath.

“John… relax. He just had a lifetime of memories and information come back at him all at once…” She put her hand on his arm, “This is good… he just needs time for his mind to process everything.”

John let out a breath, “Okay… I guess…”

He headed back into Harold’s room and sat next to the bed, watching Harold sleep with a deep pain in his chest. It was heavy and suffocating him slowly.

He never wanted to leave Harold’s side, but he also thought that the quiet and kind man deserved a more peaceful life after his incident than being brought back into the kind of life that put him in this situation in the first place.

Tears pricked at his eyes, and Reese didn’t bother rubbing them away, so he simply pressed his face into the edge of the bed and slumped there for the evening.

When Jackie found him a couple of hours later, she herded him over to the cot she had brought in for him, next to Harold’s bed.

He sleepily laid down on the bed, smiling his thanks to her in return. He took a quick glance over at the still sleeping form of his partner.

He grinned and put his head on the pillow.

Excited for when Harold woke up tomorrow and everything was another step closer to normal.

#

“I remember walking to the diner and I was on the phone with you…” Harold started. He woke up the next day with his memory and everything else fully intact. “I don’t remember much after that…” He and John were sitting outside on a bench, John’s arm wrapped around the smaller man.

John took a relieved breath, “Well, that’s probably a good thing, Harold…”

Harold sighed.

“How are you feeling?”

“Alright…” Harold leaned in closer to the ex-op, “I want you to know that there was always something… familiar about you… through it all.”

John smiled, “That’s good…”

They sat there for a while… just watching the birdfeeders and the small rushing waterfall running into the pond beside them.

“Jackie… I’d like to do something for her… she was very kind and helpful to me.”

John smiled, “Yes she was. Especially when you were stubborn… no surprise there…”

Harold glared up at him and huffed, “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t say anything.” John smiled innocently. “You must still be a little fuzzy…”

#

John packed up the rest of Harold’s things and zipped up the bag. “Ready to go?” he smiled and looked at Harold.

Harold stood up from his bed and took a breath, “I suppose…”

John walked over to him and put his hands on his shoulders, “I’m looking forward to it. We get to snuggle in, let you get better…”

Harold sighed, “I’m…” he paused, looking for the words.

He was still a little slow. His brain was still trying to ‘wake up’ as Jackie had put it.

“I’m a little nervous…” Harold’s head fell against John’s shoulder.

“Hey…” John picked his head up gently, “We’re not going to rush into anything… Carter and Fusco are handling things on that end… I’m only working one number from here on out…” He winked.

“Okay…” Harold smiled and turned around. He looked at the knit hat on the bed, “This thing is… atrocious.”

“Still have the million-dollar vocabulary, don’t you?” John smirked and picked up the hat, he fluffed up the ball on top and put it over Harold’s head, “Come on… I think it’s adorable…”

Harold rolled his eyes.

“Carter made it for you… Jackie said you should wear a hat outside when it’s cold out until your hair grows back…” John chuckled, “You look good, Harold. I promise.”

Harold smirked, “Fine…”

#

After Harold said his thanks and goodbyes to the staff at the facility, including slipping an envelope into Jackie’s pocket, John had no idea what was in it… Harold had done it all on his own, they headed for home.

“You look good in this hat,” Jackie chuckled and tussled the fluffy ball on the top of Harold’s hat. “It brings out your eyes.”

“Thank you,” Harold chuckled and hugged her. “For everything…”

“It’s my job, Harold. You were a good patient. I’m gonna miss you…” She hugged him back and Harold slipped the envelope into her pocket.

Once the two men got home, Bear all but knocked Harold down when he entered the loft.

“Hey… careful boy…” John nudged him off Harold, “Dad’s still a little fragile right now…”

Harold smiled and got down on one knee to accept Bear’s kisses, “I missed you too, boy…” Harold rubbed his ears and then stood up, “So… this is…”

John frowned. This was never going to get any easier. They had told him that some of Harold’s memories may never come back. “The loft. You bought it for me for…”

“Your birthday,” Harold whispered, like it suddenly came to him.

“Yes…” John smiled. “Okay so let’s get you settled… I ordered Chinese… so once we get everything put away it should be here.”

“Okay…” Harold sat down on the bed, taking his hat off.

John went over to him and sat down beside him, “Something wrong?”

“No. I was just thinking about how I’m going to kick your butt at scrabble tonight…” Harold smirked.

John pulled him into a hug with a smirk on his face and kissed his forehead, “Glad to have you back, Harold.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was roughly inspired by "Healing" by PolarGrizz47


End file.
